


words as light as the birds

by veridical



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Dancing, Friendship, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Maccadam's, Mentioned injuries, Pre-Relationship, Rossum's Trinity, Swing, slight intoxication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridical/pseuds/veridical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles for prompts on Tumblr, of different kind and length. All of these are basically gen and can be interpreted to your liking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rossum's Trinity - "things you said at 1 am"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said "screw it" and ran with a could-someday-happen-AU. Can stand alone or work as a part of [this series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/226124).  
> Requested by rodimiss.

It was late, and Rodimus was already there. Magnus winced when the door closed too loudly, but the captain’s optics were as bright as ever.

He was also lying absolutely still. Magnus hovered by the door for a moment, uncertain. The habsuite was not that large, and he could easily see the expression on his commander’s face - could easily feel the whiff of a field, and it made him wince again.

“Is something of matter?” he inquired. Rodimus must have already known he was there - unless he dampened his audio feed, and his sensors, and— everything, but his field did not warm. Magnus was struck with how used he had gotten to the feeling.

He took a step closer and very slowly put a hand on a red shoulder pad.

Rodimus started, and the spell broke.

“It’s Drift. He’s… Ratchet said he’s bringing him back.”

“Oh,” Magnus said when it became clear that Rodimus would not continue, and then, somehow, “Good.”

Rodimus looked at him as if he was off his gears. Magnus resisted the urge to look away, and finally the captain sat up.

“I thought you would be more—“

“Elated?” Rodimus barked a laugh. “I was. Believe me, Magnus, I was. But now it’s… it’s…” he cringed and tugged his legs towards himself. “And why are you so calm about this?”

Magnus wasn’t calm, not really, but he was collected. He was also still in the process of deciphering just what, exactly, he was feeling. He was not prepared for this - though he should have been, Ratchet was nothing if not stubborn, - and thinking about Drift still lead to confusion and left a bitter taste inside.

He crumbled down onto the berth beside his captain. “I… don’t know,” he told him, as close to the truth as he could manage.

Rodimus seemed to accept it. “Yeah, me too.” His laugh was shaky and muffled by his own knee-pads. “It’s just… I can’t even imagine. I’m— I can’t. There is… so much I need to say. So much I need to do.”

“I know,” Magnus said, as always. He reached out and laid his hand on the yellow spoiler.

“Yes,” Rodimus replied, sounding aloof and sort of detached, yet leaning into him a bit. “You do.”


	2. Blurr/Swindle - "things you said at 1 am" & "things you said when you were drunk"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can be easily read as a part of [Tips](http://archiveofourown.org/series/172328). Early days.  
> Requested by moyaofthemist/MoyaKite.

Blurr had absolutely no qualms about customers coming in just to get drunk. For Primus' sake, this was a bar. Everyone had their reasons. Blurr wasn't privy to them, so he kept his distance respectful and a flow of drinks steady.

Yet for some reason it bothered him now - when it was Swindle. Maybe if the rest of the stuff, before the Nearpocalypse, before everything finally, blessedly quieted down - maybe if all that (namely, some _traffic collisions_ ) didn’t happen, he wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t even care. But here and now, the ex-con didn't even say anything. No "hey", no smile, nothing to even acknowledge that it wasn't some random bar he just happened to drop by. Which wasn't even possible. There were no other bars. At _all_.

Blurr successfully managed a monopoly.

"How is your FIM-chip?" he asked amiably, sliding a glass towards the merchant.

Swindle looked at him and scowled. Blurr suddenly remembered all he had known and seen _before_. And why did he even decide to trust this one?

No, stop. This was a free bar, they were free mechs. Swindle could come and go as he pleased.

The glaring didn't last for long. The ex-con finally focused on the drink in front of him and downed it in one gulp.

"You have to be that friendly?" he finally asked.

"I..." Blurr fumbled. "I find that it helps the business."

Swindle chuckled, darkly. "Am I business too?"

"Everything is," the bartender shrugged. "I thought you'd understand."

Swindle finally smiled, not even menacingly, just - crooked. Wrong. "You'll make a fine businessmech. Someday."

"I learned from the best," Blurr replied automatically, feeling as if they were having two completely different conversations at once.

"Hmmmmmmm. Another?" The merchant motioned towards the glass. Blurr filled it again. "I hope you are keeping a file on these."

"I... will." He made an internal note. Forgetfulness: not very useful when running a bar.

"Hmm. You still have a long way to go."

"I don't mind," Blurr replied a bit helplessly. Swindle patted his hand, which was so far from what Blurr would expect - from an ex-con, from _Swindle_ , - that he just stared for a little while, then poured himself a bit of the safe stuff and took a sip. Right. Right. Something else to say. "I mean, you will be here to help and all."

Fan-tas-tic.

Swindle's optics widened a bit. It looked... endearing. "Hah! Of course. Where else could I go?”

The last phrase was said a bit quieter, and they mulled it over while Blurr felt warmth from the drink spreading inside him.

"You're welcome, for what it's worth," he couldn't help saying.

When Swindle's gaze locked onto him, as helpless as Blurr felt, he knew that he got it right, this time.

The merchant found his own footing soon enough. "Cheers, then," he declared. The purple optics glinted behind the raised glass.

Yes. Very right.


	3. Rung/Whirl - "things you said with no space between us"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad I finally got a chance to take a crack at these two. Warning: brief mention of injuries.  
> Requested by anonymous.

"Whirl," Rung coughed. "Whirl, you're hurting me."

"This is not my fault!" Whirl wheezed and clutched him closer.

"Hrrrk," Rung managed, and felt the claw's grasp slip a little. A trail of energon immediately trickled onto the floor. "I hhhrknow."

Inside, the internal system check was reporting more injuries. The smash damaged both his vocaliser and quite a few fuel lines, not to mention his plating. And now he stared at the corridor through which Whirl had come, knocking down the attacker.

The way was blocked.

"You'll have to... hrrrk... fly over there and look for another way. I don't," cough, "think I can bring up a map... if ghhere even... was..."

Whirl shook him even more vigorously. Rung couldn't stop feeling like the claws rattled against him, as well. "Stop it! Doc, I swear to frikkin' Primus, if you--"

"S-s-stop, not-t, hrrrk, helping," Rung squeezed out, optics onlining. Slowly, the shaking came to a halt.

"Like I'm gonna leave you here," Whirl rasped, voice alternating between high and low. "You'll leak all over the floor. Ugh. I don't even have hands to stop it!"

"I do," the psychiatrist gasped. The error reports piled up. He looked at the one concerning his spark casing. Put it aside. "Go."

"Your stupid puny shaking hands? Have you seen yourself?" Whirl stretched out his claw, locked around Rung's midsection. His legs weren’t reaching the floor. Everything blurred into pink, pink, pink. "Maybe I should just blast this fragging--"

"No!" Rung yelled, and Whirl clutched him back to himself.

"Then we're staying put,” the helicopter said, voice suddenly even. The yellow optic fixed on Rung's frozen expression, and-- was _that_ Whirl's field? Was he trying to _placate_ the psychiatrist?

"Okay," Rung sighed, and went limp in the strange embrace. He closed his mind off to the damage report. He tried to sync his venting to Whirl’s, and couldn’t - he didn’t know who was more at fault there.

"I commed for help," Whirl admitted after a couple kliks.

"Oh," Rung said, quietly, "I... didn't think."

"Because you're _damaged_ ,” the helicopter hissed with fervour. Rung put a tired hand onto his claw.

“I’ll be hrrrrrrrrk."

Whirl clutched him closer.


	4. Rossum's Trinity - "things you said at the kitchen table"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the closest to the kitchen table I could think myself. I was debating whether to make it canon and pre-Overlord, but then just let it be whatever it wanted, which is the same still-could-be-canon-AU as the first drabble.  
> Now, with Drift actually _present_ (finally).  
>  Requested by optronixes.

"I still don't understand why we are having a meeting here." 

"You don't have to understand. Here, this one's on me."

Magnus stiffly accepted the glass out of Rodimus' hands.

"I doubt if a proper meeting can be held... here," he said again, frowning.

In the close distance, there was a loud crash, some cursing, and then silence, followed by Swerve's loud exclamation, "DID YOU RECORD THIS?"

"Relax, Magnus." Rodimus slapped his shoulder pad and sat down across him.

"I don't come to _command_ meetings to--"

"You said the word "meeting" three times already!"

"Sorry for being late," Magnus heard from behind his shoulder. Ah. Of course. "I was... distracted on the way here."

Drift didn't sound particularly cheerful. Magnus wasn't sure if he cared, or when he started to notice things like that.

"Great, come over," Rodimus motioned, grinning widely. When Drift sat down beside him - right across Magnus, which made it nearly impossible not to look at him, - the blue mech felt a familiar field brushing against him - no, spreading up to him. The way it used to.

He looked away to the rest of the bar, winced and turned back.

Magnus still didn't know how to behave around Drift. Before, it was, well. It was a matter of controlling himself, and Minimus had made a career out of self-control.

Now it was an air of questions and doubts that surrounded them whenever they happened to be in the same room.

Well. That, and Rodimus' field.

"So. First item on today's agenda! Magnus. We're all yours."

He frowned, then told them about the vacant position of the Director of Security. Still. He had already mentioned it to Megatron, actually, who seemed to take the problem right to the spark, because he looked—

A thought occurred to him.

"Rodimus.” Magnus fixed him with a stare. "Is there any chance that you decided to move the meeting here because you know that Megatron doesn't come to Swerve's?"

"No," Rodimus quickly answered. "No, of course not."

"He is the captain here," Magnus insisted, avoiding Drift' gaze. "One of the two," he added, expecting the usual fuss.

"Yeah, but this is about us!" Rodimus blurted out and then seemed as surprised by that as Magnus felt. Drift's tightly held field became even more strained.

Rodimus passed his hand over his face. "Damn. I just, yeah, well, I just wanted to gather you two together, and there was hardly any other way to do it besides. Well."

"So you lied," Magnus concluded.

"But we are discussing important things!" the captain protested.

"I, uh, I'll get a drink," Drift said, and Magnus realised it was the first time he spoke.

"No, stay here, I'll get it. The usual?" And without waiting for confirmation Rodimus rather gracelessly climbed out of the booth, right over Drift. Who, Magnus had to admit, bore it stoically.

The air of uncertainty was back, and it was not even complemented by Rodimus' warmness. And Magnus-- Magnus didn't want to fight, he didn't want to threaten Drift, he was tired of the hostility.

He wanted to ask Drift why he had returned. But the - former? - third in command broke the silence first, before the second could gather his strength.

"Is your... identity a secret topic?" he asked, gaze lowered to his interwoven fingers. "I ask so that I don't stumble into something I don't... don't fully know."

Watching Drift fumble for words was-- Magnus did not know how it felt.

"Why are you even asking this?" 

"I can respect wishing to not be - to not be perceived as someone you no longer are," Drift said slowly, and Magnus felt his spark squeezing hotly.

The ex-Enforcer wondered if Drift had changed as much as he, himself, felt that he'd changed. He wondered if it mattered (it would not matter to him _before_ ); he wondered if that was his attempt to make peace between them, if he should reach out in return.

Drift was waiting.

"I... would prefer this not mentioned in front of the crew," he said. "Not that it is that much if a secret, after everything that's happened, but still.”

"Understood," Drift nodded.

Something must have shattered in him, then, because the next thing he knew, he was saying, "Thank you."

He felt something - a gentle presence, soft humming of a field. He turned and saw Rodimus standing by the side of their table and smiling so brightly it was a little unbearable. Magnus hid his face, but not before noticing Drift doing the same.


	5. Kade & Heatwave - "things you didn’t say at all"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt begged for tons of angst. This is not tons, but at least it's something.  
> Requested by ~~my esteemed trash colleague~~ mincedsandwich.

They talk, and talk, and talk. Dani groans, Chief sighs, Graham pinches the bridge of his nose. They talk before the missions, they talk after the missions, they talk during the missions

"The jokes aren't even funny," Dani says, climbing out of Blades. The bot looks like he agrees.

"All you do is argue," Chief says, shrugging his shoulders, but he looks stern.

"I bet you won't be talking Heatwave down like that," Kade mutters.

"I will. But it's not the point, son."

Kade rolls his eyes. "Yes. I know."

Cody talks to him - talks to both of them, actually, but he always does that. It does help - for a few days, and then they start again.

 

Sometimes it blows into something big, something nasty, even Heatwave recognises it as such. He doesn't mind, most of the time. Nothing Kade says to him will ever be kind, and Heatwave responds in kind. He responds so much that for a moment, his partner's optics - eyes, - widen, and he understands he must have hit some sort of nerve. He must have stumbled upon something, unknowingly.

He should be glad.

He doesn't say anything about it.

 

Heatwave sends reports to Optimus - at first, daily, and he checks the computer every time he accidentally passes it by, to see if any answer had come back.

Just a simple "message received, continue" would suffice.

But there are often times he does not get even that, and sometimes, once, it's too long and Heatwave is tired. Sometimes he thinks he's getting used to it, getting the hang of it, somehow, and then his partner opens his mouth.

Sometimes he wonders if there's even a point, if Optimus receives them.

So he tells Optimus about the incident (they don't even have fields! How am I supposed to understand them?), thinks it over, deletes it in frustration. Why is he still thinking about this?

It's not like Heatwave hesitates to bring up anything that comes to his mind to his partner, immediately, in a mocking tone.

Except.

 

Heatwave doesn't tell Kade about the fact that half his frustration is not the inability to reach Optimus. He nearly doesn't speak with him for days after they return to their normal size.

Kade doesn't tell him that he worried - most likely, he doesn't even know himself.

He knows, though, that when Heatwave speaks eagerly of the possible future missions, something ugly curls inside him.

 

Heatwave doesn't tell Kade that Optimus offered him a position on his own team. Why should he? He refused. It's nothing to mull over.

But it keeps him thinking for days.

Kade doesn't tell him that the increased silence bothers him. Pfft, yeah, so what if he got a bit used to the constant bickering.

It certainly isn't something worth voicing.

 

"You're alright!" he says, not for the first time, but it stops Heatwave in his tracks, and something in Kade's face tells him that it was not meant for him to hear. He swallows the first response, and the second, too.

The ride home is completely silent.

But then, they never needed to say anything.


	6. Blurr/Swindle - "things you said when you thought I was asleep"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Blurr talks even more when nobody can hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following directly after [Late Nights](http://archiveofourown.org/series/172328).  
> Requested by moyaofthemist/MoyaKite.

Swindle's world is hazy and, heh, blurry, but also dark and sweet, sweeter than engex, and he feels something constant on the edge of his consciousness - oh. Blurr. Blurr's talking, and though Swindle can't quite grasp the meaning, he likes the noise. He likes his voice, soft and smooth, so unlike his own - oh, he can be smooth, but not quite like this. Not as speedy, as well. The ex-con knows Blurr sometimes gets self-conscious when someone calls him out on speaking too quickly - well, he doesn't show it, he kinda bristles and huffs, unless it's someone he likes, then he gets kind of embarrassed and is all smiles and apologies.

One time Swindle mentioned how he was talking quite... rapidly - just a note, - but Blurr frowned, pursed his lips and closed off his EM-field.

He wants to focus on the words he hears, doesn't want something important to slip away. Slip away like a racing car, fast and oh so easily distracted, stupid, naive idiot who thinks he can manage a _bar_. Who thinks a bar can be managed on former fame and okayish drinks and dazzling smiles. Oh, he sees those - all the new customers and some returning customers get at least one, as if, as if that's enough to keep someone in Maccadam's. At least he has enough sense to leave the numbers to Swindle and not use the smile on him.

Slowly, the haziness starts to break until he realises his hand is clutched in Blurr's. That... is embarrassing. Did they actually hold hands the whole time? How long have they been walking? Are they actually going to _Blurr's_?

Swindle wipes the questions from his processor, for now. Eh. He's still too drunk to deal.

"Hold on," Blurr smiles down at him, and Swindle remembers how that smile felt against his mouth in a sudden flash and reboots his memory core. Stop it, stop. Let it be.

Blurr, meanwhile, doesn't let his grip slacken. Ah. He is supporting Swindle. Must be. Couldn't leave him alone, this time? Yet there were countless times before, he could just go _home_ , knows the road to his place perfectly, even if he has to go on foot, why did it have to be tonight--

"Here we are," the blue mech announces. Swindle is too lazy to let his optics roam the building, so he simply nods. "Sorry, I don't have... well, anything, I guess it's understandable, not many are able to hold onto their--"

"Should've seen my place," Swindle hears himself say. The lift - there's a fraggin' lift, - carries them to some floor, and the moment Swindle approaches a slab, it's over. Exhaustion doesn't even let him say anything, his systems ache, and one last thing he sees before his optics blink off is Blurr's silly worried expression.

Thing is, apparently, the thing in his systems also prevents him from getting a fruitful recharge. There's always a glitch once in a while that brings him out of it, and of course, it happens here, again. His audio receptors catch something--

"...the best, that you just fell into recharge like that, I don't even think I have any particular engex, especially not your engex, should've just taken that box from the bar, but then taking anything from the bar, even if I kinda own it, is not a very good thing. Is it? I guess you're not the best person to ask, I could even say it's not a very Autobot thing to do, but just, don't let anybody from the Old Oil House know! You would laugh if you could hear--"

When he boots up again, the voice is closer. And faster.

"...just don't understand. You're so... so nice, why are you so nice, why is it so easy all the time, where do you always go, why do you disappear for days, argh, why do I even care? What's the deal with refusing to come with me one day and then looking so dejected when I'm closing up the other? You know that I was once so distracted that I forgot to actually close the bar?"

Blurr huffs angrily.

"I just, I don't get you, okay. It's not a Decepticon thing, you _know_ I'm past that, even if you aren't, but just - others, Tankor, Dirge, Pit, even Autobots, they are kinda cautious, I see it - even in Slug, even in Sky-Byte, everyone but the Camiens - they still feel the war, it beats in their sparks, it's too fresh, it sits too deep - even those that don't feel any animosity towards the others can't just go to the way things were. It changed us - and you, you just slide from one situation to another, from one lifestyle to another, like they're all deals you make, and I, you know, I wonder what your next will be. But then, I guess, maybe, that's why it's so easy with you - you just don't have this burden that weighs every single one of us down, and I wonder how you can even bear me if I carry it with me everywhere I go."

And Swindle thinks: oh. He thinks: I get it now. He thinks that he never really knew just how fast Blurr normally talked, how he must guard himself all the time. The meaning still slips away, inevitably, leaving only a trail of words in its wake. He can connect them - he will, later. Now, as he finally drifts away towards uninterrupted recharge, he only feels a brief touch on his optics. A memory malfunction. Must be.


	7. embrace your inner self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minimus was very small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt here, just my own imagination running wild. Set in [Over Your Shoulder](http://archiveofourown.org/series/226124)-verse, but can be read as a stand-alone. Getting-even-closer-to-being-canon AU (ie, Drift returns).

He was very small.

Drift couldn't look away, but he forced himself to lift his gaze lest the bot caught him watching. That was even more embarrassing, if you thought about it: if he was Magnus, Drift would be looking at his chestplate. He would definitely not be avoiding the sight of a green face, a facial insignia, frown that appeared when he saw Drift... Well. Frown would probably still be there; it always was.

He heard about it, but he never even imagined how it must look - how much smaller Magnus (Minimus?) must be. He'd heard of loadbearers, but to see it like this-- he probably wouldn't even think that this stranger was Ultra Magnus, but his aura was impossible not to recognise.

"Magnus," Drift managed in a thin voice and stretched out his hand. "Is there... a particular reason..?"

"I'm. It's," said the bot, voxcoder completely different. "Something Rung suggested. Truth be told, I wasn't expecting you--"

"Sorry I'm late!" Rodimus exclaimed, slipping inside. "Was picking up something at Swerve's-- whoa. Hey. Uh."

Rodimus shied away from his field, as always, as he always did nowadays, startled, like a wild turbofox.

Drift felt, acutely, the way Magnus' field - smaller, different-feeling, but undoubtedly his - reached out to Rodimus, and the way Rodimus gave back, this two-way comfort.

So this is what it came to; a complete turnaround. It was inevitable, he guessed.

Rodimus came to the table at which the green bot was still sitting (he looked _ridiculous_ in Magnus' giant chair) and put a cube with a blueish liquid on it. It sparkled innocently. Drift would've never guessed that this was the stuff that the big scary Enforcer liked. But then, what did he know?

And it _was_ blue.

"I'll come back later," he heard himself say. "It's not that urgent."

"No," Rodimus said unexpectedly, and cringed. "Please, I, I."

Minimus reached out to touch the inside of Rodimus' left palm. The captain relaxed - very slightly, but almost instantly. Drift felt like he was intruding on something extremely private.

Magnus caught him staring and snapped his hand back, as if only now realising what he'd done.

"This isn't working out. It was a stupid idea," he muttered. "I should put the armour on before anyone else wanders in."

"Drift isn't just anyone," Rodimus argued.

Minimus just inclined his helm. Drift still had no idea whether this meant agreement or "I'm letting this slide because arguing with you is a waste of time and energy", but the gesture was startingly familiar, and exactly when did he get this familiar with how Magnus moved?

"Please stay," Rodimus repeated, or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks. Rodimus was still closed-off, but he looked hopeful, and he was clutching his left hand, pressing fingers into the palm.

Speaking seemed difficult, bordering on painful. "That is Magnus' decision," Drift managed and prepared to leave.

There was a pause.

"I don't mind. You're... free to stay," said the small bot. He didn't say "welcome", but that would be too much of a stretch.

"Come onnn, sit," Rodimus grinned nervously. "We can hold command meeting in places other than the bar, you know!"

"You did not inform me there would be a meeting," Minimus said slowly. "You know I need at _least_ a one-day notice, and, oh, but I'm out of armour, I _knew this would_ \--"

"Magnus, Magnus! Relax. It's just us."

Magnus looked indignated and muttered something very quietly. Drift thought he heard Megatron's name and decided he didn't want to know.

He reset his optics and went for it.

"You know, you really should listen to Rung. Embracing your inner self is a very important step on a path towards finding peace."

Magnus frowned, but Rodimus let out a sudden laugh. "This is more like it!" He took a step towards him and clapped Drift's shoulderpad, but then froze momentarily.

Drift very carefully put his own hand there, keeping Rodimus' in place, and for the first time since his return, felt that warm glow.

He met Magnus' gaze, and the red optics were looking steadily, as if trying to comprehend, to estimate, as if he already knew, and all of it - a myriad of possibilities, an infinitude of understanding, and a field just within his reach were right _there_ , close and getting closer, closer than was ever possible before. And Drift smiled.


	8. looking behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from mincedsandwich: "blurr/swindle, on a date/hanging out at a place OTHER than the bar". takes place in Tips universe in some undetermined future.

“Have you been here before much?”

“Not really. I mean, after the… Shocalypse. After the time we found the Titan, really. Kinda gives me creeps.”

Swindle stared at him. “Do you really call it– nevermind. Come on, I know a good way out.”

When they finally came out of Metroplex - for some reason, it was no easy task, - it was, miraculously, still dark. Blurr gasped a little at the sight of… nothing.

“Like it?” Swindle inquired with a little smirk. “We can go out a little further. I promise you, we won’t start killing each other. Unless I decide it’s easier than settling my tab.”

They went for a while in silence, neither breaking the suddenly overwhelming air of nothing around them, nothing for miles - except for the city left behind, drastically quiet.

Suddenly, Blurr ex-vented and plomped down on the ground. Swindle had no idea how he managed to do it so gracefully.

“I kinda wish this planet still had the old roads. That was one definitely good thing about Earth - so many highways. And yet, compared to ours… Primus, I miss them. That one Protihex track… it was amazing, going for miles and miles, with no obstacles and no end in sight. Lots of mechs enjoy the trim trails, but really, I would pick a simple open road any day. Just driving and driving, for eternity. The ultimate challenge. Darkness all around you, just the lights by the road pointing your way. I loved races, but in the end, what I think of now is just going out there, in the night, and driving…” He snorted. “I guess if I died and my frame assumed my preferred shape, it would probably be the altmode.”

Blurr vented a sigh once again, throwing his helm back slightly, supporting himself with the arms behind him. Was Swindle still there? He was suspiciously quiet.

The ex-racer turned his helm only to see bright purple optics right in front of him, and in the next moment he felt lipplates on his own. Swindle didn’t say anything, he just kissed him - Blurr felt small hands, one on his left headfin, the other stroking his grillets. He didn’t try to ask - Swindle rarely initiated anything as it was. He could only cherish it, not even try to coax the mouth under his to open - nothing as intricate as that. It was simple, simpler than it ever was there, inside Metroplex, inside Maccadam’s: he prided himself so often on being insignia-blind, but the thing was, everyone felt it, back there. Cons, bots, NAILs. Even him, the bartender, supposedly above it all. Here, he was just… a former racer.

Swindle was simply Swindle.

When they parted, it seemed as if Swindle’s optics were blazing even brighter.

“I… I…” his face was doing something weird. “I– guess I wouldn’t mind seeing you race one day,” he finished clumsily.

Blurr stroked his neck cables, then grinned.

“You bet you would. Do you know just how good I was there? No one could even try to compare.”

“Mmm. We could make fortunes,” Swindle said dreamily, drawing back and propping himself on his hands as well.

“So you still don’t believe I can make a fortune with the bar.”

“It’s not a bar. It’s a fragging charity establishment for the poor.”

"Like you, you mean.“

Swindle rolled his optics. "Yeah, like me.”

Blurr chuckled and moved a little closer.


	9. our steps will always rhyme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by scraplette: "Maybe Rung trying to teach Skids to dance? Could be friendship or romance." This was fun! though I couldn't think of a Cybertronian name for the dance, eh.

“You can do it.”

“All the evidence points to the contrary.”

“Skids. You are able to master difficult battle skills in the span of nanokliks. Surely you can learn a couple dancing steps.”

“It’s not about the steps!” Skids threw his hands up. “It’s the… you know, the grace or something.”

“You are pretty gracious in battle,” Rung noticed.

Skids stared at him for a while. “Wow. Well, thanks, Eyebrows.”

Rung coughed. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t know you liked looking,” Skids continued, grinning all the more.

“I didn’t… don’t change the subject! We are doing it. It was you who asked,” Rung reminded him sternly.

“I regret that profusely and would like to retract that.”

“No. Come on. Give me your hand.”

“I still think that our drastic height difference–”

“You’re not getting out of this.” And there it was: a small smile, barely visible. Skids loved drawing these out.

“Oh, okay. Go on. Work your magic.”

Rung shook his helm, then tugged Skids closer.

“Come closer, you won’t crush me. Our frames need to be touching for this. Next thing, you need to loosen your limbs, otherwise you simply won’t be able to move the right way. Okay. You know how to shift weight in battle?”

“Yes?”

“Well, it’s the same here. Pay attention to your legs below the kneepads - feel them. The most movement is concentrated in there. There are variations where there is more freedom of movement - the ones where you could turn me around, for instance, - but we’ll stick to the basic style for now. Okay, now, twist your feet, yes, like this. Three times, then we turn around…”

Skids ex-vented heavily. “I’m afraid I’m just not built for this.”

“Nonsense. Everyone can dance. It’s very similar to fighting, you know.”

“Not everyone can fight,” Skids said pointedly.

“No, well.” Rung paused in his motions. “Not everyone needs to. Nowadays, at least.”

“And that’s good.” The blue mech smiled easily. “Look at us, we even have time for this! That’s fragging unbelievable. Which reminds me - where did you even learn how to dance?”

“Oh, well.” Rung looked to the side, round optics dimming for a nanoklik. “I… enjoyed this as a sort of escape from work, before the Clampdown. There… there was a friend who invited me to their gatherings. It was a nice enough refuge. It’s hard without a partner, though, and due to my height, I always had to follow, almost never lead.”

“Oh.” It only now dawned on Skids that this had to have some emotional impact on Rung himself. “Well, go on then. What’s the next move?”

Rung showed him.

“Whoa there. I’m not sure it’s even possible for me to cross my legs like this."

"Skids.” Rung measured him witn a glare. “I’ve seen miner-builds do this.”

“Alright, okay. Let me try.” He ex-vented, put one leg in front of the other. “What is this one called again?”

Rung was looking at his legs and smiling. “Balboa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image of Rung dancing swing. Good grief.


End file.
